


The Grieving Process

by Catakitsy



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 19:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catakitsy/pseuds/Catakitsy
Summary: Some drabbles I want to write about how Emily is dealing with her grief. Set in High Chaos, head-canon heavy.





	The Grieving Process

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty headcanon based due to me writing emily for some years, and it's very, very high chaos. i hope you enjoy it!

  


  


Emily was in The Golden Cat during her birthday, she hadn’t realized it passed until she was taken to the Hounds Pits, and she asked what day it was. Callista thought about it for a moment before remembering and letting the little one know. It was a simple question, after all, one of a girl who had lost track of the days. Nobody blamed her for that, everyone was a little blundered from time to time. Nobody blamed her, even Corvo pat her head when her eyes dropped to her feet, downtrodden. Nothing wrong with forgetting. 

They held some pitiful semblance of a birthday party for her, months late. Emily sat at the bar, and the maids couldn’t make a cake. They had to stay low, Havelock said, they didn’t want to take any chance of the Loyalists getting caught. So, they all opted for a sandwich, but hoped that a bit of singing would cheer her up. The normal shanties that sailors sung, perfectly memorized and brought up by Samuel, though he was reluctant and concerned about embarrassing the girl. He didn’t participate in song, though he sat on one of the stools and patted her back, muttering some awkward birthday wishes. Corvo rubbed her head, and everyone had a turn to pat her head and give her a hug if they were the type- like Callista, she gave extraordinary hugs. Callista whispered in her ear that she was sorry Emily couldn’t have a better party. 

Wallace passed her a glass full of apple juice, and the rest had the renowned Dunwall whiskey. She pretended to be happy, Emily Kaldwin the First, she smiled and thanked them all for everything. She was conditioned for this exact moment, trained her whole life to smile in front of an audience, even if she wasn’t happy. 

The sandwich itself was dry, and Emily finished her apple juice before she could finish her birthday meal. How old was she now? That’s right, mother died almost a year ago, she was nine back then. She remembers her ninth birthday, Corvo picking her up and all the servants clapping around her, nobles drinking. Mother giving her a kiss and a hug. Emily didn’t receive any warm hugs and kisses this time, maybe Corvo placed one atop her head, if he did- she didn’t know. Everyone’s hand was cold and callous, rough and hard, made so by the hard water of the river and the darkness in the sea. Everyone and everything stunk of dead whale, of the plague, of filth and broken dreams and wilting memories. Even pristine little Emily probably smelled of death and betrayal, of all the grime laden within the city, the sins of everything around her.

The pub was filled with quiet laughter, careful and cautious of the outside. Even Wallace joined in on the chatter, he was normally so quiet, judging them from the corner of his eye. It was an Empress’s birthday, after all, although months late, he had to act accordingly. 

_ Emily never liked Wallace.  _

_ Emily pretended to like everyone. _

_ Her mother missed her birthday. _

_ Corvo wasn’t picking her up to twirl her around.  _

_ Her mother hasn’t given her kisses and hugs. _

_ Her mother missed her birthday. _

_ Jessamine Kaldwin was dead.  _

_ Corvo wasn’t the same. _

_ He might as well be dead, too. _

**_Her mother missed her birthday._ **

Tears pricked at the girl’s eyes, but she rubbed them and laughed at whatever joke she didn’t hear. She felt so betrayed. Angry, even.

_ Mother missed her birthday. _

Emily looked across the bar, wishing she would wake up from this year long nightmare.

_ Corvo might as well be dead, too. _

This was reality, her reality, a constant sinking feeling, a jump every time something touched her arm, sleeping only three hours, and sometimes fourteen. Sometimes she refused to eat, other times she whined about having her favorite pastries that nobody could get her. Some days she cried all day and yelled at everyone, the next she would tug on the Admiral’s arm and ask for him to play. 

It was her birthday, she was ten years old, and Mother missed it. She was always busy, so busy, but she would never miss her daughters birthday. She was gone.

_ Mother wasn’t here anymore. _

_ Mother missed her birthday. _

_ Mother was dead. _

**_Jessamine died ten months ago._ **

Emily scooted back on the stool, asking politely if she could be excused. She wanted to play. They let her.

She promptly hopped off her seat and thanked everyone again, giving them all hugs and Corvo a kiss on the cheek. He asked if she wanted him to play with her. She said no. She didn’t want anyone to play with, she didn’t want anyone near her. Emily smiled at Corvo, and she saw his face crack when he tried to smile back. She swore he wasn’t that old, but he was worn. 

Emily skipped to the shore and picked up some rocks on her way, she met the water as it barely reached her feet. It was trying to grab her and pull her in, like many other little girls it has devoured due to negligence. Dark eyes peered over the water, feeling nothing, empty, numb. She wanted to cry before, but her eyes felt dryer now. 

She was ten, she had been ten, she hadn’t realized. With sore fingers bearing chewed down nails, red at the tips, so unlike how a pretty Empress should keep her nails, she dug into her white linen pocket, taking pebbles in her hand. Emily squeezed them tight, feeling them scrape around each other, then opening her pale and small hand with red dotted fingers from the little stones. Peering out back to the harsh water, a bright but gloomy horizon, this city cowled with industrial dirt and fog, she pushes one pebble to her thumb and index finger, holding the others tightly. 

She threw one, it sunk immediately.

She threw a second, only one hop on the surface.

A third; two hops.

By the fourth, Emily’s eyes stung again, and she rubbed them harshly with her dry knuckles. She threw the fifth pebble, with a force in her arm that made her shoulder pop. By the sixth, her face was contorted in a frown. The pebbles weren’t hopping on the water anymore.

She threw the next, and she wanted to scream, to curl up and clutch her stomach and scream as loud as her throat would allow. But her common sense told her otherwise.

She stopped trying to skip the rocks by this point, her eyes dripped with anger, sunken rotten heart barely beating in her chest. Emily threw violently at the sea, cursing it for taking all it could from her. When her hand was emptied she knelt to grab anything on the sand, harshly snatching anything solid she felt; rocks, trash, glass. 

The wet and hot tears streamed down her cheeks, unending as she roughly rubbed at her face with her arm. Her face was red. She was quietly sobbing, as she should, to dare not alert the others, especially the attentive and quiet Corvo. She must remain silent, just pretend she wasn’t sad, to greet the others again with a wide smile after her face wasn’t so red. 

Emily continued to throw things with a painful force in her arm, and they weren’t far enough, not for her. She was kicking the dirt and splashing the water, ruining her pretty white pantyhose. She threw everything into the sea, as it ate everything, took it all in, the rocks and the glass, her angry sobbing and faint curses.

The rush of the waves brought everything unwelcome, it brought back all of her anger that she threw in it. Reminding her of all that it's claimed. It was seemingly fighting back with her, rushing forth and back with every swing of her arm and every kick and stomp and silent screaming. Her voice squeaked, scratching at her dry throat to grow into a wail. Her fists were clenched now, digging deep into her palms as she snarled and spat at the sea, water rushing in an equally as angry fashion, cursing back to her.

She begged for her mother back.

It wouldn't return her, it refused this comfort. Watery fingers taking hold of her ankles only to slip away.

She cursed it with all she could muster, demanding that her life return to normal.

It churned in defiance, threatening to eat her whole if she would not let up her silly demands.

Emily Kaldwin the First stood still, hands balled into tight fists at her sides, trembling, eyes wide, breathing heavy. She felt herself emptied again, numb, she had poured everything out into the water, her pent up rage, her betrayal, her abandonment. Mother had yet told her how cruel the world was. Mother had left her and she too- had died, and felt different, she wasn't Emily. She was only someone that looked like Emily. Corvo only looked like Corvo, some sickening, tired resemblance of a dead man walking. 

_ Mother missed her birthday, she was **dead**. Jessamine was **dead**. The Late Empress was killed ten months ago.  _

It was only five o'clock in the afternoon, and Emily wanted to sleep. Her eyes felt gross from all her crying, and her lids grew heavy as a result. It was easier to just drop into the water and be taken away as any other soul. Her pain wasn't unique, but it was hers, and it dug like knives into her chest that only made her recoil and spit whenever she tried to take the sharp blades from her heart. It made her angry, and her heart wilted. 

It was her birthday, months ago, at the Golden Cat. Her ninth birthday had balloons and a big cake, other noble children to play with. Her ninth birthday she had her mother's kisses and Corvo's hugs. On her tenth birthday her mother had missed the party, and there was no cake, no kisses, no hugs. Only a reminder that she would live with a hole deep in her chest for as long as she lived. Jessamine never missed Emily's birthday, no matter how busy she was. She was holed up in that tower, she was, Emily believed, and her eleventh would be different. 

Happy Birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing emily for a while on tumblr, and i never tried to focus on how she dealt with grief, since it's different for everyone. this is also an outlet to help me cope with my own mother's death, and my own birthday is coming up, something about writing the experience of someone else helps me rationalize it myself. so if the writing's a bit shoddy i'm sorry! but i'll happily accept constructive criticism.


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